Of Swords And Cola
by Military Mechanic
Summary: It isn't always simple, romance that is. It isn't always complicated, either. Sometimes, it just happens. Sometimes it comes in a burst of laughter and dancing and sun. Sometimes, it comes dowm with a clang of metal and blood and sweat. But, one way or another, it always happens. They end up together, and that's just that. It just is.
1. Flying High

A/N: I suddenly realized that there is a distinct lack of this pairing over. Franky/Zolo, that is. In fact, not counting this story, there are literally only three other fanfics for them on this site. Which, honestly people, is just kind of pathetic. :| To make up for that, I'm starting up this! A collection of stories, both super short and fairly long, all dedicated to the pairing of Franky/Zolo!

So, read, review, and enjoy!

PROMPT - RED TAILS AU

* * *

Even in the middle of the war, Italy is an open and accepting place. Far ahead of it's time, or so one of their fellow bombers, Brook, likes to say. On top of that, the scenery is beautiful and the beer's cold. Which, during their breaks between flying, is mostly what Franky and Zolo care about. A brief respite from the action and risk and adrenaline that comes whenever they latch down their canopies and take off into the air.

What better place to go, either, than the Officer's Club? Italian run, yes, but made solely for the soldiers that have come to their bustling city. The air is thick with smoke and the scent of spilled beer, loud with roucaus laughter and traded jokes - on most days, at least. Somedays, the bomber-duo walks into the bar and they know that somewhere, for some reason a battle was lost and men were shot down.

Either way, they walk over to their stools. At the far left corner of the bar, just to the left of the pool table. They order their drinks, two beers on the tap, and Franky will make some smart-ass comment about one of their friends. Usually, it's Brook or Usopp. Then they sit in comfortable silence as they nurse their beers and listen in on the other conversations. Listen, but are never included - because their fellow _American's_ can see how they sit a little too close to each other, arms brushing every so often as they reach for a deck of cards or a smoke. It's just that no one says anything about it, just does their best to ignore it. Why? Because Zolo would kick their asses if they did and Franky would laugh while he does it - they know this because it's happened before.


	2. Haywire Downloads

A/N: Look, a second one! I'm totally going to make this ship sail, just so everyone understands that.

PROMPT - curtesy of my darling sister, who is having this same trouble at the moment. DOWNLOADING A TORRENT

* * *

"God damnit!" snaps Zolo, giving the mouse under his hand a harsh click. Too harsh, because it ends up opening two pages instead of one, and for a moment Zolo isn't sure what he should close out because he has too many screens up.

And, of course, the one that he just opened isn't what he's looking for. He thinks. It's mostly white, filled with a lot of small, black print. Only, scattered inbetween the words and letters, are all kinds of dashes and numbers. Things that make no sense to him.

Shouldn't make sense to anyone, he thinks angrily, because numbers shouldn't be in a sentence.

But they are, so Zolo stares at the page long and hard for a few moments. Recognizes the words "encoded", "quality", and "seeder", but doesn't know what to make of the numbers that follow them. So he snorts and gnashes his teeth together and exits the page, because he's pretty sure the damn thing was in French anyway.

Stupid ass torent.

Stupid ass move.

Stupid ass computer.

It's a pretty basic desktop that he's crouched over. A Macintosh, with a lime green keyboard and a matching mouse. The chair Zolo's sitting in is usually pretty comfortable, but he doesn't normally sit in it for more then ten or so minutes to check his email and the current count is passing the three hour mark. Behind him, his apartment is dark with the lights off and the blinds closed. Nothing is moving or playing or making noise.

Just silence - and then he opens another link and suddenly there's music blaring in the living room. It's loud and high-pitched, something with a sickeningly catchy beat and rhyming words. Pop, he figures, and he would turn it off accept exiting the page he just brought up doesn't do anything. It's still playing, louder now, and Zolo has no idea which tab it's coming from.

Letting out an irritated curse, he slaps the mouse down a couple of times. It doesn't make the music stop or the correct link open, but it sure as Hell makes him feel better. At least, it makes him feel better until the front door lets out an unmistakeable click and swings open.

Aside from the pop music, there's silence.

Scowl firmly in place, he uses his foot to spin the chair around and points a finger at the intruder. "Haven't you ever heard of knocking, bastard?"

Franky blinks. Once, twice, three times - and, no, Zolo is still sitting in front of the computer, arms crossed over his chest, wearing a neon yellow tee-shirt and black shorts. Rebecca Black continues to blare out from the speakers, repeating the words "it's Friday" over and over again.

The large man isn't sure whether to laugh and find out what's going on, or just take his pizza and leave. In the end, he settles for cocking an eyebrow and smirking at Zolo. "I would've come over later if I'd known you had other plans, y'know."

Zolo sputters for a moment, then lets his lips twitch down even further. "I can't figure out the damn music's coming from. Get over here and shut it the Hell off, and close the door too! Fuckin' letting all the heat in..."

With a shrug, Franky uses his foot, bare, to close the door. He sets the slightly grease-soaked box of pizza down on the table as he passes, then makes his way over to the corner of the room that Zolo and his desktop are occupying. Zolo pushes himself back around so he's facing the screen and Franky leans over him, underside of his arms brushing the shorter mans shoulders as he reaches for the mouse.

"What're you doing on here?" he asks, slightly surprised. "I didn't think you knew how to do things like this."

Zolo frowns, but doesn't answer. Mainly because he _doesn't_ know how to work torrent sites. Hell, he can barely log into his email account! He and computers just don't get along well, and Zolo's quite content with that. Most of the time. Right now, with Franky easily sifting through the tabs and having no trouble exiting out of the one with music on it, it's just pissing him off.

"There ya go, Zolo-bro." says Franky. He doesn't move from his spot though, instead glancing through the open page. He quirks an eyebrow, smirk softening slightly. "Hey, isn't this that movie I said I wanted to see?"

"How should I know?" snaps Zolo, standing up suddenly and forcing the other man to move his arms. It was, and that was the whole point in trying to download it, but he wasn't about to say that when it hadn't gotten done. Instead he stalks away from the computer and over to the now cooling pizza box. "Just thought it sounded interesting."

Franky smiles and lets out a loud laugh, choosing to join the green-haired man over at the couch rather than say anything. He saw the slight blush, after all, and that was more than enough.


End file.
